


Failed Attempt

by GayAquarius



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Bonding, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, No Romance, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayAquarius/pseuds/GayAquarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the episode Auto Erotic Assimilation (season 2 episode 3), Rick attempts and fails at suicide (canonically). His intention is to destroy himself with a laser, but he passes out right before the laser fires, making it miss him. He's passed out for quite a while without anyone noticing, not even Jerry who was outside doing yard work. However, Morty eventually grows worried and checks on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failed Attempt

**Author's Note:**

> I just got into this show and watched all the episodes. It's really gotten me messed up. I usually don't gravitate towards shows with such dark themes. I couldn't picture it being any other way, but it can be tough to watch. Especially when I see such a raw, painfully relatable scene like Rick attempting suicide. And sometimes, when I see something that painful, I gotta put a happy twist on it while still trying to keep it within canon.
> 
> Like I said, super new to the show, only starting watching about a week ago, but I did my best!

“Grandpa Rick!”

The sound of Morty's shrill voice stirs me from something deeper than sleep. Whatever my face is resting on, it's hard and uncomfortable. I try to say something, to tell him to fuck off and leave me be, but my voice is trapped in my throat.

“Are... are y-you okay? Wake up!”

Morty isn't capable of being quiet, is he? I force open my eyes. He's standing right next to me, looking at me with those wide, terrified eyes. The eyes of a child who truly believes there's a monster hiding in his closet. He lacks the naivety of that hypothetical child; he knows the monsters _are_ real, even if they're not in his closet.

When he sees that I've been brought back from unconsciousness, he says, “Oh jeez, Rick! I was... I was worried you weren't going to wake up!”

I see the tears in his eyes, and I feel a disgusting, uncomfortable catch in my throat. This kid was genuinely worried about me, not that I deserve it. My brain is still in a fog, my cheek still firmly planted against my desk.

“Wha... what happened, Morty?”

“I don't know,” he replies, his voice less loud, less squeaky. “You were gone for a while so I came to check on you, and you were passed out... and no matter how much I called your name you wouldn't budge... and I was super worried, Grandpa Rick! I thought I lost you!”

I lift my head from the desk. My head is pounding. I turn to face Morty, and he no longer is trying to hold back his tears. They drip from his face without a care in the world.

Then, I remember.

I remember Unity. I remember coming home, completely distraught. I remember feeling so depressed in that moment that not even booze could dull the pain. I remember putting a poor alien creature out of its misery once and for all, showing it some kindness and care in its final moments, possibly for the first time in its short life. I remember thinking about the fact that when I left this earth, I wouldn't have anyone who would comfort me in _my_ final moments. I remember attempting to subject myself to the same fate.

Judging by the fact that I'm awake, something went wrong. Why did it fail? I thought it was a sure shot. How did I manage to fuck this up, just like everything else?

But I can't tell Morty all of that. He deals with enough, going on all of these chaotic adventures with me. He didn't need the extra helping on his plate regarding his wacky grandpa's chronic loneliness, alcoholism, trust issues, deteriorating mental health, and too many other issues to list.

“Morty, don't be fucking stupid. I'm not going anywhere. The universe can kiss my ass if it thinks it can take me out before my time.” I clear my throat. “You hear that, you piece of shit universe? Rick Sanchez is here to stay, bitch!” I yell this at no one in particular. It feels worthwhile when I see Morty smile, if only for a little bit.

It's meant to be a humorous statement, but my voice cracks at the end of it. I inhale deeply, making sure not to show my weakness in front of Morty. The universe _can't_ take me out before my time. I wouldn't let it. I'm far too stubborn for that. There was just a large part of me that wishes my time had come earlier.

Morty leans on my desk and says, “Y'know, Grandpa Rick, I don't say this much, and I'm sure you'll just call me gay or a pussy or whatever, but... it's fine. I just wanted to say that I love you. I know things aren't always great and sometimes the adventures we go on are scarring, but I'm still glad we get to spend time together, you know?”

Throughout the chronic sense of emptiness in my heart, I feel a sense of warmth. I almost can't help but be glad that for whatever reason, my suicide attempt failed. I reach out my arms, and Morty falls in them. I give him a hug, something I can't remember the last time I did.

“I love you too, Morty.”

Our embrace ends after a while. Morty isn't crying anymore. He almost looks... happy. The feeling is temporary. It always is, overtaken by misery in no time at all. If there's anyone familiar with that, it's me. Nonetheless, it makes me feel a little less like shit.

“Thank you, Grandpa Rick. I know it probably wasn't easy to say I love you back, but-”

I cut him off. “No need to get, hic, carried away, Morty. What are you, gay?”

What can I say? No matter what happens, I'm still Rick.


End file.
